


the art of letting go

by serendipitiness



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Asmodeus and Azazel have beef, Azazel Being an Asshole, BAMF Magnus Bane, M/M, Magnus Bane Is Quite Magical, POV Alec Lightwood, Protective Magnus Bane, Supportive Alec Lightwood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-11-15 18:35:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11236827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serendipitiness/pseuds/serendipitiness
Summary: “You little fool,” Azazel says, interrupting Alec’s rising panic as his polished leather shoes coming into his line of sight. “You cannot do what you did and expect no consequences.”(or how Azazel captures Alec Lightwood, and Magnus lights it up and saves his boyfriend)





	the art of letting go

In the cloaked hours of the evening, the High Street subway stop is bathed in the lazy yellow glow of streetlights, casting a warm halo on the pavement and the neon glow of the signs. Alec steps out quietly, letting the stillness in the air wrap around him as he checks his phone again, hoping beyond hope that Magnus has responded to his message. The screen shows nothing but the time, though, and he sighs for the hundredth time, not knowing what to do.

He walks slowly, half his body wanting to get to Magnus’s place faster, the other half dreading it. His mind is filled with images of Magnus’s face from a week ago, the way his stare had been cast toward the floor as he sat heavily on the sofa in his loft, the light catching on the downward turn of his mouth. Alec had felt his stomach sinking until Magnus finally lifted his eyes, watching him with a broken gaze, and even though the guilt still sat heavy in his bones, Alec thought that maybe, he could fix this. And though it’s been a week and nothing is normal, Alec still forces himself to be optimistic.

He doesn’t concentrate on his steps, his body following the path ingrained into his head that takes him to Magnus – that takes him home. It’s only until he hears a soft crunch under his boots that he realizes something is wrong. Eyes clearing, he sees traces of powdery gray sand strewn everywhere, blending into the concrete like an extra invisible layer. Alec moves sharply, reaching back for his bow as adrenaline courses thick through his veins, but this time he’s too slow.

“Hello, Mr. Lightwood,” he hears from behind him, voice dark and dangerous, before a shock of blazing heat hits the center of his back, shoving him forward until he falls, his face scraping against the ground as the pain radiates to his fingertips.  _You_ , he thinks savagely.  _You started all of this_.

Alec feels the scorching sizzle of magic pressing into him on all sides, the acrid scent making his eyes water. Even paralyzed in his own skin, he can feel the fury bubbling up inside of him as he hears steps drawing closer.  _I will destroy you again_ , he thinks faintly, even as his sight dims.

Alec isn’t sure how much time passes before he awakens from unconsciousness, but his joints are swollen and his limbs are heavy. His cheek feels raw and gritty, pressing roughly into gravel as he tries to sit up, but shackles wrapped heavy around his wrists drag him back down onto his side. All he can see is that they’re outside. A patch of empty earth stretches in front of him, a hazy gray that fades to a distant black, and a sliver of moon hangs low in the sky.

He has no idea where he is. He could be in Omaha or Dudael for all he knows.

“You little fool,” Azazel says, interrupting Alec’s rising panic as his polished leather shoes coming into his line of sight. “You cannot do what you did and expect no consequences.” He kicks at Alec’s shoulder, throwing it out from under him, and Alec grunts in pain as he plants into the dirt again, his heart shuddering in his chest. He tries to tap into the ever-present humming energy under his skin of his parabatai bond, hoping to contact Jace, but he can’t concentrate.

Azazel hums, the sound low and chilling like ice water dripping down his neck.

“Get up, Nephilim.”

Invisible fingers wrap themselves around Alec’s throat, blocking the air as they lift him off the ground. Alec struggles against the chains, feeling his vertebrae being pulled apart like pearls on a necklace as his toes skim the floor, like the string is about to snap if he rises another inch. The pressure eases just barely, though, at the moment before he thinks he’s going to shatter, leaving Alec hovering in the air at Azazel’s mercy.

He saunters around Alec with careless elegance, looking the same as he did when Alec last saw him, but there’s an unfamiliar savagery in his eyes that burns red. “You think one arrow would be the end of me, because they told you so.”

He pauses, turning to face Alec directly, that ageless face smirking.

“What do you want?” Alec croaks out, hating the weakness in his own voice.

Azazel raises an eyebrow. “Nothing much. Just exacting justice – an eye for an eye, as they say,” he says calmly, and Alec watches in silent dread as the fire in Azazel’s eyes is swallowed by black, his pale skin and crisp suit shifting in glitches to shadow, growing up and out until it morphs into heavy armor, dully gleaming. Blue fire whirls around him, and suddenly the well-dressed, very-human looking man is a demon a dozen feet tall, towering over Alec with a sneer that stands out against his smoke face.

This…  _this_ is the Forger of Weapons, a Lieutenant of Hell, Lucifer’s second-in-command. This is a Fallen Angel, a Greater Demon, and the weight of his anger falls solely on Alec’s shoulders.

It’s a sobering realization, and Alec feels eerily alone.

What light there is glances off a heavy broadsword that materializes in Azazel’s hand, the metal inscribed with Chthonic, and he wields it like it’s a feather, the blade singing through the air. Drawing close to Alec, Azazel grabs his jaw under hot metal gauntlets, the pressure painful against the bone. He traces the tip of the sword against Alec’s face, carving a bloody line under his eye with a delicate, biting touch.

For the first time, Alec thinks he might die tonight.

He battles the bindings on his wrists and the magic holding him in, straining his muscles and gritting his teeth. He tries to connect through the parabatai bond again, but a squeeze at his throat cuts it all off. Azazel laughs, and the sound feels like nails on a chalkboard, like fingers curling around Alec’s spine and ripping it out.

“I think not,” Azazel says, twisting his fingers and sending inky energy swirling around his blade. “None of your friends are here to help. No other Nephilim. No Magnus Bane.” His eye twitches subtly, but Alec notices, even as his lungs start to burn.

His wrists are chafing under their bonds as he tugs, but he’s losing his strength even though all he wants is to sink another five arrows deep into Azazel’s sternum. Thinking is hard, though, as the edges of his vision start to black out and he feels himself fading.

 _No_ , Alec thinks dimly, his thoughts shifting instinctively to Magnus and the torn-apart way he looked at him.  _It’s not over, I’m not done._

Azazel raises the sword overhead, the blade swinging in a perfect arc as Alec observes clinically, his sight already halfway gone, when all at once a huge explosion lights everything up like fireworks, rocking the earth and sending Azazel stumbling and hissing with an arm covering his face, his sword down at his side. In his distraction, he loses grip of Alec, who falls to the floor in a crumpled heap, oxygen pouring back into his lungs as he heaves and coughs, ears ringing as the world goes foggy.

Alec’s eyes flutter as the blood rushes back through his limbs, eyes flitting around the space, landing on Azazel as he rises up with outrage painted on his face, landing on –

Magnus.

Relief and fear rushes through Alec like a flood breaking a dam at the sight of him.

A glowing portal is disappearing from behind Magnus as he strides forward, the entirety of his arms ablaze in harsh crimson fire, his jaw tight as he stares hard at Azazel. He’s dressed almost austerely in all black, the dark shirt under his jacket coming up to his throat, bare of jewelry except for a single silver cuff on his ear. His usual smoky makeup is limited to severe, stark lines, crisp and clean against his skin.

The only color on him is in his eyes. The yellow-green cat eyes reflect with the hot glow of his magic, and Alec has never seen Magnus look so hard and livid. This isn’t a side of Magnus he’s used to – he knows the High Warlock, he knows his boyfriend, but this?

“Azazel,” Magnus says. His voice sounds strangled and alien, the name emerging from his lips like a growl. “What are you doing with him?” Alec watches as the magic burning from Magnus’s palms pulses brighter and hotter with every word until it almost flares white, and he shifts unconsciously, breath coming faster.

“Here to play hero, Magnus?” Azazel chuckles, turning to face him directly, straightening from a crouch. It sounds like stones rolling together, like thunder in a vacuum. “You couldn’t contain me last time with all the children watching – what makes you think this will be any different?”

The sword disappears from Azazel’s hand, and he crosses his forearms in a move that Alec recognizes. He shrugs his shoulders over his ears, squeezing his eyes shut and bracing himself for the piercing, excruciating shock that electrocutes every nerve ending in his brain.

The sound never comes.

Alec looks up to see Azazel, all twelve feet of him, bound up in twisting ropes of magic that extend from Magnus’s hands, wrapped around the metal of his armor and heating up the steel until it glows orange. Magnus’s face is twisted in a feral grin, and somehow he looks more himself than he has in the past week, liberated and beautiful and horrible, all at the same time. Alec’s mouth drops open in shock as he weakly pushes himself to his feet, his eyes glued to Magnus – what the hell is happening, and how is Magnus able to do this?

Azazel snarls like a rabid dog, canines bone-white and iron-tipped. “You dare,” he snaps. “You are not powerful enough to contain me!” he grounds out as he rips at his bonds, sending blue lightning and gray sand flying everywhere.

The glare of magic reflects on Magnus’s face, shadows highlighting the terrifying curl of his lips and the sharp furrow between his brows. “You’re right,” he says, stepping closer. He’s half Azazel’s height, and Alec’s nerves go haywire as he stumbles forward to help, stopping when Magnus turns to him and shakes his head.

“I am not powerful enough on my own, perhaps,” Magnus continues, glaring back up at Azazel, “but a mutual acquaintance of ours offered some assistance.”

Azazel’s black eyes widen. “You stupid warlock!” he says violently. “And your stupid father. Asmo –”

Ignoring Azazel, Magnus twists his fingers in a violent, jagged spiral, his knuckles white, and a gaping black portal opens behind him, spinning like a tornado. From its greatest depths, Alec sees rust-burnt sand and a dying sun, before  _dozens_ of demons he doesn’t recognize start pouring out, clawing their way out of the edges, shoving against one another for freedom. Alec feels breath catch as he watches the scene and the warlock controlling it.

His voice is petrified and breathy and not his own. “Magnus, what are you –”

Magnus doesn’t hear Alec, but it doesn’t matter. His eyes glow gold as the demons move around him, streaming around him like he’s untouchable and aiming for Azazel instead. Some have sharp fangs that snap in the air, and others have pointed claws that dig into Azazel as he cries out in a horrible scream that Alec can never forget. It sounds like the earth is cracking, like acid is being poured into his ears, and even as Alec slaps his palms over his head, Magnus stands still, a faint smile on his lips.

Twirling his arms in an elegant dance, Magnus’s magic coagulates into one crackling length, like a red-hot javelin in his palm that burns with energy. Holding it over his shoulder, he turns around and finally meets Alec’s gaze, and in that instant, Alec sees something achingly familiar in his golden eyes despite the raging power Magnus is emitting, before he pivots and staggers forward, hurling the spear forward into the center of the crazed throng of demons surrounding Azazel. It flies faster than Alec’s eyes can detect. The Greater Demon’s scream escalates another octave, and Alec knows without a doubt that Magnus managed to pierce Azazel’s demonic core with something far more potent than Alec’s arrow.

In a wash of dust, the hulking form of Azazel dissolves into the air, scattering dark sand onto the ground, the only remnants of his time here. The remaining mass of demons move collectively like a murmuration of starlings, turning to face Magnus. Alec’s heart speeds when they notice him and edge toward him, and he reaches for his bow.

“Enough,” Magnus calls out, his voice deep and commanding. He points toward the giant portal still swirling lazily. “Go back.”

For a long second, Alec holds his breath as the demons continue their progress in his direction before they turn and lurch back through the portal, obedient in a way Alec didn’t think was possible. It’s slow, but eventually every demon passes through the opening, and Magnus snaps his fingers to close off the portal.

It’s over.

Azazel is gone.

Magnus’s shoes scatter some pebbles as he turns toward Alec, and Alec only just realizes the haunting quiet permeating the darkness. He stands, straight and still, as Magnus approaches him warily, like he’s afraid Alec will bolt.

“Alexander,” he murmurs. “Are you alright?”

Faint moonlight lingers on Magnus’s face, curving gently around his jaw and casting shadows over his skin. The cold, impenetrable anger from before is gone, only the faintest echoes of it present in Magnus’s slit-pupiled eyes.

“W-what in the world just happened?” Alec asks.

Magnus’s leans forward as if to respond, but no words come out. Alec’s fingers twitch with the need to touch as he waits.

Eventually, Magnus speaks, releasing a sigh that travels, slow and mild. “Those were  _asmodei_. I opened a portal to…” He swallows and licks his lips, and Alec’s eyes linger on the residual shine. “I opened a portal to Edom and summoned them here.”

“I didn’t know you could do that,” Alec says softly.

Magnus turns away, staring off into the distance as residual magic sparks at his fingers. “I didn’t want you to know.”

Alec stops at that, feeling a little sidelined. “Why?”

Except he doesn’t need to ask to know. Magnus looks beautiful and anxious and  _done,_  the immense, indescribable power he’d just used leaving his body wrecked, and Alec can tell from the way Magnus stands at a distance, curled into himself, and the way he avoids Alec’s eyes, that he’s upset and scared. Scared that  _Alec_ is scared. Of him.

Even as more questions linger heavy on Alec’s tongue – why did they obey you? why did Azazel mention your father? do you understand how much I love you? – he files them away as he watches Magnus’s face.

“You know what?” Alec says swiftly, putting a brake on the distress clouding Magnus’s expression. “It doesn’t matter. You can tell me when you want to.”

Magnus’s eyes go wide and luminous with surprise.

“I would have died without you,” Alec says bluntly, catching Magnus’s hand in his own, the skin still overheated, and holding it tight. “So thank you for saving my life. You just took out a Greater Demon, and it… that was incredible." Alec blinks, the remembered sight of Magnus, furious and magical and  _his_ , making his throat dry. "I really don’t care what happened. Tell me tomorrow, or next year, but I don’t care. As long as you’re okay, Magnus.”

And that really is all he wants right now. There are still secrets, and there are still wounds open and raw and bleeding, but this is what he needs, what Magnus needs, after the Valentine situation, after saving Alec, after _everything_. He just wants Magnus to be comfortable in his own skin again, to feel like himself, and Alec would honestly do anything to make that happen.

“ _Are_ you okay?” he asks. He rubs his thumb over Magnus’s knuckles, savoring the feeling of Magnus after going a week trying to give him space.

Magnus doesn’t answer with words, staring down at their connected hands instead, his gaze rising slowly until their eyes meet. A hint of melancholy still lingers in his gaze, but he smiles a little, the corners of his eyes crinkling for the first time in a while, and Alec feels his heartbeat steady at the sight.

Magnus reaches out slowly with his other hand – a hand that had just ruined Azazel, a hand that had just commanded demons – and brushes it gently against the cut on Alec’s cheek. An indistinct blue wisp rolls from Magnus’s fingertips, and Alec feels the sting on his face disappear under a soothing coolness.

“Thanks,” he rasps out, words feeling thick in his throat.

Magnus smiles again, the motion fragile and sweet and lovely. “Thank  _you_ for not dying on me,” he says hoarsely, affection shining in his gaze.

Alec laughs at the familiar line, exceedingly happy to be teased for once. Fondness warms him from the inside as he watches Magnus, soft and grinning, and he ducks his head, kissing Magnus on the cheek and breathing in the scent of vanilla and smoke from his skin. “Take us home?”

Magnus twists one hand, continuing to hold onto Alec with the other, and a bright purple portal opens up.

“After you, my darling.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! i hope you love magnus kicking all the asses as much as i do!
> 
> fyi, asmodei are asmodeus's demon children who effed up edom. so they're technically magnus's half siblings?
> 
> i literally just joined tumblr - come hang w/ me [ @s-erendipitiness](https://s-erendipitiness.tumblr.com/).


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